But do we want to remember?
by sherlockscarf
Summary: "you think you hear someone and then you'd realize that its not real, not anymore and the voice would stop talking about murders and pink suitcases and you'd be left In the silence of reality" a fic i uploaded once before, but it didn't get any feedback. john after the fall. he doesn't find Sherlock in this (I've read a lot of those) please give it a chance


Okay, so I've read a lot of fics about john finding Sherlock again after 'seeing' him walk past etc… but what if he didn't find him, what if he was there, but john didn't see, didn't know? What then? I decided to put this to the test.

Enjoy!

I watched his coffin, his body, him, be lowered down, so deep into the ground that I had panicked that he wouldn't be able to get out. I still had believed he was alive, I still do I've just given up trying to figure out how.

I had panicked so much that I had to be led away by a hysterical Lestrade, who also couldn't (to my surprise) cope with his d- loss as much as I could.

Let's just say we both see the same therapist.

After his funeral I was lost, lost and alone, I didn't know where else to be if I wasn't with him.

The flat? Barts? Scotland Yard?

So I stayed with him for a while, by his head stone, talking to him, crying, sleeping.

I was a wrecked man.

Until one day, with Mrs Hudson, I set it straight to him

"_Just one more miracle, for me, Sherlock, just… don't, be… dead… stop all this, stop it now!"_

I waited for that miracle, day after day, week after week… until I had forgotten.

That life seemed far away now, like a dream, whenever I looked back at it, hazy images with pieces missing, but his strong confident voice would still be there, every word every laugh every snide comment and joke, they were there, along with the rest of him. I could picture him perfectly, tall, elegant frame as it stormed into the living room shouting obscenities at some locked up criminal that had given him a three second case, his pouting face as I refused to give him his hidden cigarettes, the feel of his hair when I stroked his head, comforting him from a nightmare I would never tell him I knew about or- stop it, this is cruel… stop-

Or His bloody, ruin of a body…

Lying on the pavement, crystal eyes staring up at the height he fell from, blood swimming around his head, blood pouring around his eyes, contrasting with the silver of his iris', which stared without seeing…

That one picture is one I want to forget.

I occasionally went back to 221b, to visit Mrs Hudson and Roxanne, who had wanted to stay there after the loss of her brother.

"_I didn't get to see him for such a long time; I want to stay with him now"_

"_I understand, if you need me for anything, anything at al-"_

"_You'll call me" she said, wiping the tears from her eyes, I got the meaning; she knew I needed someone, like she did_.

She had grown on me, she was more than _Sherlock's-younger-sister-with-the-weird-dog_ now, she was like my own sister, I helped her and visited, just like I should have with Harry, only here I would be welcomed with the sharp cry of

"JOHN! COME HERE AND LOOK AT THIS!"

When I opened the door with the spare set of keys Mrs Hudson had given me. Roxanne would be in the living room, with another of her amazing experiments shooting miniature fireworks, her lurcher (weird dog) 'taio' sitting beside her, looking up at the flashes. But she could always tell when I opened the door.

_Just like Sherlock could…_

I'd jog up the stairs, into the old home, every thing where it had been left but with new experiments, a polished skull and a dog.

And another generation of Holmes

In the living room.

She'd sit with her legs crossed, blonde hair tied up behind her head in plaits or left lose to cascade down her back in waves of gold, her brothers eyes where hers should have been staring intensely at her newest creation or frowning at her dog as It did something stupid like, try to pick up the printer when she specifically asked for printer _ink._

Yes, I know what I just wrote. It happens.

I kept in touch with Mrs Hudson too, she'd be at 221b when I went there sometimes, embracing me in a huge hug as I walked through the door

"_Oh, my boy's back, my lovely boy!"_

We all knew she was waiting for the day Sherlock walked through the door, so she could embrace him like that too.

She believed in Sherlock too.

She would make tea and her homemade biscuits would come out of the tin and we'd all sit around pretending that we were fine, moving on. But we weren't.

We were still looking back, looking back at the thing we were missing.

Some times it would be fine, I'd walk in and there wouldn't be any blood shot eyes or quiet sniffs into a tissue. We'd get on like we used too, the hole in our hearts filled up with laughter and tea and ginger snaps. But they'd always be those extra long hugs after wards to put it back into my mind.

**He** brought _us_ into **his** world, and now we were stuck, stuck in this endless tunnel of memories that we owed to a legend, we couldn't get out if we had wanted too. Because we didn't, we liked knowing, remembering that _oh, over there he blew up the fridge_and _I remember that was part of the first case we solved together_and_he hid kidney's in that pillow case._

We couldn't forget, but did we want to remember?

Lestrade kept in touch, we went out sometimes, talking about a new case he couldn't solve, awkward silences and I'd invite him back to mine when we would talk some more.

We got on a lot more than I thought we would have, we became friends as the years went past (2 now).

Christmas time and New Year everyone got together again. Sally and Anderson (now married and a child on the way) molly and mike, Mrs Hudson, Roxanne, lestrade, Mycroft and I. that was quite fun, they'd be laughter, sarcasm and happiness.

And the new 221b tradition of a minute of silence (Sherlock would have hated it, 'the dead can't hear and if they could how would they hear the SILENCE' exact words) but I suppose that was the reason we did it. Because we knew it would have pissed him off, (and remembering his face last time as he struggled to keep quiet for everyone was pure bliss)

But the hours ticked by….. The days….. The months…

One word in my head like the final a knoll of a bell.

Gone

Gone

Gone

I went back into my ordinary, everyday, boring, dull, continuous life.

Food, work, patients, Sarah, patients, Sarah, patients, work, flat, cry, sleep, food, work, patients, Sarah, patients, Sarah, work, flat, cry, sleep, food, work-

On, and on, and on…

I waited for that miracle, waited, waited, waited, waited,-waited-waiting…

-Forgotten.-

Dreams of falling, "it's what people do don't they?", silver broken eyes, "leave a note", dark curls matted in the red, "leave a note when?", blood so much blood!

"Goodbye john"

"SHERLOCK" I woke up, shouting the name into my empty flat as I shot up in my bed, cold beads of sweat prickling my forehead.

Breathing heavily and shivering I brought the covers back over my shoulders

_This needs to stop, stop this now…_ cringing at the words I had spoken before I sighed, trying to steady my heart beat.

I had heard him, I swear I had, but then, in dreams that happened sometimes, you think you hear someone and then you would realise that its not real, not anymore and the voice would stop talking about murders and pink suitcases, stop laughing at the stolen ashtray or questioning his brother about his diet, and you'd be left In the silence of reality, the cold, heavy silence that once used to be filled.

Of _course_ I'm talking from past experiences, that's why I see a therapist isn't it?

…

Isn't it?

~_smash~_

"_Oh sh-"_

I shot up in bed

Someone was in my flat.

I sat frozen for a moment, muscles tensed, adrenaline seeping into my body, ears straining for any signs of an intruder

Silence, silence, silence, silence, silence,

The annoying buzzing sound rung in my ears

My heart beat grew steadier, steadier, silence, steadier, listen, listen. Thump, thump, steadier, silence,

~_cre-aak-k~_

I jumped out of bed, adrenaline rushed into my system, head giddy, muscles fired and tense, bolting for my drawer and pulling out a gun, footsteps thundered down my hall, I ripped open my bedroom door and legged it down the hall after him, into the living room, the window was swung open, cold air chilled my heated limbs there was a grunt and glass in my foot, pain, stinging, look up! Window, silhouette, face, silver eyes and gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone


End file.
